


ice

by orphan_account



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Cussing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Sex, PDA, Pining, Sharing a Bed, just making out, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>basically baz is pining after simon, and simon is also pining after baz, unknowingly, of course</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Baz never expected that Simon would ask for him to ice his back. Or that Simon would ever let Baz touch him. After four years of loving him, hating him, wanting him, Baz still couldn’t believe what was happening, was, well,  _ happening _ .

Simon sat perched on the edge of his bed, facing the far wall opposite the window. Baz sat cross legged on Simon’s bed (another first), holding a pack of dripping ice to Simon’s bare back. The idiot had been trying to climb a tree on the edge of the Wavering Wood, and had, of course, fallen flat on his back. Only after hobbling back to the dorm to find Baz studying did Simon finally collapse onto the bed, asking for Baz to hold the ice.

At first, Baz had vehemently declined. He was not,  _ could not _ , be that close to Simon. Especially when Simon actually wanted him that close.

When Simon started groaning an hour later about how sore his back was, Baz had finally acquiesced, silently moving from his chair to Simon’s bed and ripping the ice from his hands, shoving it towards Snow’s back. Simon had only been slightly surprised, then relaxed under the cool touch of the ice.

Baz was stiff, his spine straight, his eyes looking at anything but Simon. Simon’s back.  _ Simon. _

The moles scattered across his back were closer than ever before, and Baz was internally dying (technically, though, he was already dead, anyway). There were more than he had realized. He could see the lighter ones, and the sprinkle of freckles that were only prominent right after summer break and right before the leaving ceremony.

They said nothing. The room was deadly quiet, only the wind to occasionally blow in and ruffle Baz’s hair around his face. Focusing on anything but Simon was extremely difficult. Pushing his intruding thoughts out of his mind, Baz remained quiet and firmly held the pack to his roommate’s back.

 

Simon was not as alarmed as he thought he should be. Baz’s presence behind him wasn’t intruding; it was soothing. His back already felt better, and he was starting to slouch further. The sun was falling from the sky, and the shadows around them darkened. 

Simon hadn’t said anything except for a small yelp when Baz had sat behind him, grabbing the ice. He was quiet, quieter than he had ever been. He felt every beat of his heart, and twitch of his foot, every time the bed rustled and Baz shifted his position.

They had been sitting for what felt like hours, but was probably only thirty minutes, when Simon slowly turned around. Baz took the cue and sprang from the bed, moving to the other side of the room. Simon opened his eyes (he hadn’t realized they were closed), and was about to thank Baz when he noticed the frantic expression on the boy’s face. Baz was staring at him wide-eyed, clutching the mostly melted bag of water. His hair was falling in his face, the last strips of sunlight glinting off his grey eyes.

Simon straightened his back, popping the joints. “Thanks, Baz.”

Baz hesitated. “No problem, Snow.”

Simon grabbed his shirt from the nightstand and pulled it over his head, feeling the lump forming on his lower back. He scowled in pain and fell back on the bed, rolling onto his stomach. 

It was almost pitch black out, and Simon’s eyes were threatening sleep. He had homework, but he was too relaxed, too content, to do anything but sleep.

He opened his eyes one last time, where he saw Baz placing the bag of ice on the table, a shocked look in his eyes. Simon didn’t know what to make of it, and he nodded off.

 

Baz’s mind was spinning. The room was spinning. Everything was spinning.

Simon had turned around. Baz had practically flown across the room, fearing rejection. Instead, he had gotten thanks. His heart had stopped. His heart had sprinted. His heart had melted. (Did he even have a heart anymore? What was the point when he was running on borrowed blood)

Simon had thanked him, and fallen asleep. His hair tangled around his face, on the pillow, his shirt riding up his back where Baz could see the bruise still growing darker. It was too much.

Baz slumped onto his bed, facing the window. He wanted to climb out. He wanted to run. He wanted to go sit on the Great Lawn at night, thinking about his life’s choices. Why he couldn’t ever be a friend to Simon. Why he couldn’t ever be anything more than an enemy.

Falling back on the bed, his hair flung in every direction, Baz crawled up and under the sheets, curling in on himself, making a wall between him and Simon. He didn’t watch Simon sleep that night. He had already had too much of the Chosen One for one day.

 

Simon was dreaming about Baz. It wasn’t unusual; it happened a lot, actually. Most nights it was just scenes from their final showdown to come, or a flashback to that time with the chimera or the stairs. 

But now, Baz was just sitting alone in the middle of the Great Lawn. He didn’t see Simon; Simon wasn’t even sure if he was visible.

Baz wasn’t wearing his usual black suit and pants; he was in a white short-sleeved shirt, and white shorts, and white shoes. His hair was still pitch black, but his skin was dark, a reddish gold that was probably one of the most beautiful colors Simon had ever seen. 

Baz wasn’t plotting, either. He wasn’t doing anything; he was simply sitting, legs crossed underneath him, grass staining his white shorts. His eyes weren’t as grey, either. When he turned around, they were green. A darker green than now, with specks of blue and grey. 

Simon was slightly blown away. Baz had always been beautiful, a different kind. He was always cold, fine, hard, untouchable. Now, he just looked warm, and happy, and welcoming.

Simon knew Baz couldn’t see him now, so he approached, sitting beside the boy with the green irises and warmth. All of his features were glowing, like his vampirism was no longer sucking at the color in his eyes and skin.

Simon reached out to touch his arm, glowing with reflected sunlight and warm skin, and then he woke up.

 

Baz still wasn’t asleep. It had been hours, and he still couldn’t sleep. He tried everything; sleeping on his stomach, back, other side. He went for a walk around the moat, spitting at the merwolves as he went, but nothing helped.

His eyes were staring at the ceiling in resignation when he heard Simon jolt awake. He didn’t move his head to see. Simon would look menacingly at Baz, roll onto his other side, and fall asleep, as he always did.

Except this time Simon pushed up on his elbows, moving into a sitting position facing Baz’s bed. He stayed quiet for a few minutes, then spoke.

“Baz?” 

Baz didn’t answer. Simon couldn’t know if he was awake; it was too dark to tell for someone with normal eyes. 

Simon continued anyway.

“I know you probably hate me, and want to kill me, but I wish there was another way. That this could end. Without one of us dying.” A pause.

Baz was shocked. Simon didn’t want to kill him; this was a revelation. He stayed still.

“I don’t know, it just feels kind of pointless. Why do we have to kill each other? Why can’t we just, not kill each other instead?”

Baz snorted. It gave him away, but he didn’t care. The irony was too much. He thought about this everyday, and now Simon was actually talking about it.

“Wait, you’re awake? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Baz pushed himself up, facing Simon. “Because I was waiting to see if you would confess your deepest secret. Apparently I succeeded.”

Simon’s face fell. “You aren’t seriously going to use this against me, right? I just said I didn’t want to kill you. Does that mean anything?”

Baz laughed again, a clipped sound. “No, Snow, because our lives are not dictated by us anymore. I have to kill you because my last name is Pitch, and you have to kill me because you are the Mage’s Heir. It’s not up to us anymore. It doesn’t matter what you say, it can’t change anything.”

Baz’s heart was falling as he said that, but he removed all emotion from the statement, maintaining a facade he so desperately needed.

 

Simon felt crestfallen. Something had changed in him. He had seen Baz in that dream, a different Baz, yet the same one who was sitting in front of him. It made him think of other possibilities. Other endings. And Baz had shot him down, as usual. 

He was also correct, as usual. Simon couldn’t do anything to stop it. Nothing was up to him; everything was up to him. He had so many prophecies about his life, it was already like his biography was written for him.

“Fine. Let’s kill each other like we’re supposed to.”

He slumped back against his pillow, expecting Baz to go back to sleep (if he had even been sleeping before). Silence echoed for the room for a few moments, then was interrupted.

“Simon, wait- I, wait.”

Baz’s voice cut across the quiet room. Simon rolled over to face him, looking expectantly. Baz continued.

“I- since we’re telling truths here, I don’t want to kill you either.”

Another surprise.

“I’ve never- I’ve never actually wanted to kill you at all. Well, maybe first year when you were a total git, but not now.”

Simon sat up fully. “You don’t want to kill me either? Then why make up all of those threats?”

Baz smirked. “I have a reputation to live up to, Snow.” 

“You called me Simon before.”

Baz rolled his eyes. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.” 

Simon leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees.

“You called me Simon,” he said, in a quiet voice.

 

Baz was losing control. Snow was leaning forward slightly, a small smile on his face. Baz was going to die (if he wasn’t already dead).

“I think you lost some hearing too when you fell today,” Baz stated, trying to suppress anything that could give away what he was thinking.

His mind was screaming  _ danger! _ , but his irrational heart was screaming  _ more _ .

Now Simon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If we don’t want to kill each other, let’s just, I don’t now, make a pact or something not to. When the time comes.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Baz asked expectantly.

Simon glanced at Baz’s wand. “A magickal promise?”

Baz glanced at his wand too, lying on the nightstand. He considered his options. If Simon really did pledge not to kill him, half of his problems would go away. 

But new ones would take their place.

Baz was about to decline, when he thought  _ maybe, for once, I could actually do something in my best interest _ .

So he picked up his wand and held it out, motioning for Simon to stand up as he did. They both stood a foot away from each other, staring.

Baz roughly grabbed Simon’s hand, twining their fingers. Simon didn’t jolt away. He whispered the incantation, and their hands glowed slightly, then faded, a magickal bond between them.

“Great. Now that’s one less thing to do on my agenda.”

Baz was trying for something slightly humorous, slightly sarcastic, to ease the awkwardness of the situation. But when he looked into Simon’s eyes, any further attempt to speak stopped short.

 

Simo was mesmerized. This close, even in the dark, he could see the color of Baz’s eyes. He searched them, looking for some of the color he had seen in the dream, until he found it. He leaned closer, a microscopic amount, but he was closer all the same.

Baz was staring at him too. Some of the frightened, shocked look of earlier was coming back. Simon didn’t want to see it again. He wanted to see the expression he had seen in his dream, the warmth and the white and the green, everything that Baz was, but didn’t show.

“Simon, I-”

And then Simon leaned forward further, noses bumping, hands gripping fingers harder, and kissed him.

 

Shock. That was the only word Baz could think of for the situation. Completely, utterly, amazingly shocked.

 

Simon pushed forward more, grabbing Baz’s other hand. He heard the wand fall to the ground, clattering on the wood. Simon slid his other hand into Baz’s, pulling him forward. Baz was still taller, and Simon was one his toes, but he didn’t care.

 

Baz was completely still. Simon pulled him forward, then he pushed him back, and Baz moved, expecting Simon to move away. Simo followed him.

 

Simon untangled one of his hands from Baz’s and brought it up to his chest, shoving him gently backward. In a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness, the backs of Baz’s knees knocked against the frame, and he fell backward, sitting on the bed.

Simon moved forward, and Baz shuffled back on the bed. Simon swung one leg over the side and wrapped his arms around Baz’s back. Baz grunted.

“Snow. Your necklace.”

Simon realized what he meant and ripped the golden cross from around his neck, flinging it into another corner of the room.

“Better?”

Baz grinned. “Better.”

 

Baz was grinning, but he still had no idea what the fuck he was doing.

 

Simon clenched his hands into Baz’s shirt, fingers digging into Baz’s spine. Simon’s legs were wrapped around Baz, and he untangled them, pushing his roommate onto his back and looking into ecstatic eyes before kissing him again.

Simon moved his mouth, trying to get Baz to _ participate _ more, to say, when Baz jutted his chin forward, slipping his tongue along Simon’s bottom lip. 

At that, Simon gave a small grunt. “Holy fuck.”

 

Baz stopped. Simon was still kissing him, wanting more after Baz had slid his tongue inside his mouth. Simon wanted this. Simon wanted  _ him _ .

 

Simon felt Baz freeze, so he brought his hands up to Baz’s head, pulling fingers through shiny black hair. Baz’s eyes fluttered close again, and Simon gripped onto his black locks tightly, not wanting to let go.

Baz raised one of his hands to Simon’s back, grabbing his t-shirt. His hand skated slightly over the bruise, and Simon hissed. Baz stopped his hand mid air. 

“No, keep- keep doing that. You just- it’s my fucking bruise.”

Baz’s hand went to gently rest on his upper back, rubbing smooth circles into Simon’s spine.

“Better?”

“Better.”

 

Baz was on his back, and Simon was above him,  _ straddling him _ , and Baz was going to die.

His eyes were screwed shut, trying to savor a moment that probably wouldn’t last. Simon was still kissing him, and he could feel his lips starting to bruise. Simon pulled away again, slowly, their lips sticking slightly, when he popped Baz’s top button open, placing a quick kiss to Baz’s neck.

Baz let a whoosh of air escape him, yelping slightly, and Simon continued, unbuttoning Baz’s pajama shirt and kissing across his neck, collarbone, shoulders, chest, stomach. Simon kept whispering things into Baz’s skin, small amounts of praise and appreciation, and Baz was going to die.

 

Simon’s mind was spinning. Now that he had Baz under him, panting and grasping for a hold in Simon’s hair, he thought about everything he had always wanted to do to Baz. Like twining fingers in his hair, or kissing along the hard line of his collar-bone. Simon’s mind was spinning, but now he knew Baz wasn’t going to kill him, and they both wouldn’t die.

 

Baz was breathing heavily as Simon continued to kiss all along his chest and stomach, rubbing circles into his side, never stopping except to whisper against his skin.

“Beautiful.”

“Gorgeous.”

“Amazing.”

Baz was going to get off just on Simon talking to him, pressing against him, his lips covering every part of his skin.

 

Simon could see Baz’s skin color change. The more he kissed him, the redder he got. He wanted to see the Baz from his dream. He  _ was _ seeing the Baz from his dream. Warm and smiling, eyes shut and fingers pulling at Simon’s hair, Simon was going crazy, seeing Baz like this.

 

As Simon deftly covered every inch of Baz in kisses, Baz ran through the list in his mind of everything he wanted to do to Simon. When Simon stopped for a moment to catch his breath, Baz sat up quickly, grabbing Simon’s shoulders and pushing him down. Simon let Baz slide his hands up his shirt, feeling what he thought would be hard and muscular. Simon was warm and soft instead.

Simon pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into the same corner as the necklace. Baz gripped Simon’s arms, his hands quivering. He knew what he wanted. He just didn’t know how to take it.

“I- I’ve wanted this for so long,” Baz said hesitantly. His hair was falling around his face, and Simon was gazing up at him, eyes bright and lips swollen.

“At least four years,” Baz continued. 

“I don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Simon stated, “but I know I do.”

And with that Simon reached his hand up, running his thumb across Baz’s cheekbone, and kissed him once again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mini epilogue

Sometime during the night, after they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Baz jolted awake, the sheets falling from his shoulders.

He looked at Simon’s bed, not believing that the man wrapped around him was  _ Simon Snow _ . But Simon’s bed was empty, and Baz couldn’t mistake the golden blond hair on his pillow glowing softly under the moonlight.

_ This is a dream _ .

He reached over and smoothed his fingers across Simon’s forehead.

_ This is not a dream _ .

Realization hit suddenly. Baz thought of how many years he had been thinking of this moment, and every moment that would follow. He remembered his small fantasies where Simon would call him beautiful and kiss him until his mouth went numb.

He pressed his fingers to his mouth. Simon had kissed him.  _ So many times _ .

Simon had also whispered against him, things he had never even  _ dared _ to dream; it had always been too much to think of something so intimate, so far away.

Yet it had happened. 

It had happened, and happened, and  _ happened _ . 

Baz lied back down, resting his head in the crook of Simon’s shoulder, relishing in a moment he never thought he would experience.

 

The next morning, Baz asked Simon why he had kissed him. Simon didn’t know how to explain, except for, “I had this really weird dream.” Baz grinned mischievously at that, but Simon glared at him half-heartedly, continuing, “I had this dream that things were different. And I liked it. So I made everything different.”

Baz smiled, a small, sheepish smile, and Simon’s heart melted.

Simon was going to make sure this would last.


End file.
